


Like and Love

by GooberFeesh



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, M/M, Summer Mystrade Exchange, oc child - Freeform, parentstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/pseuds/GooberFeesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six-year-old Oliver expresses a disheartening concern to Greg one afternoon - a disheartening concern that has Mycroft Holmes reevaluating his approach on fatherhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like and Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CommunionNimrod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/gifts).



> Written for the 2014 Summer Mystrade Exchange on tumblr. Also: Oliver isn’t adopted or the result of mpreg. In this universe, Greg has a younger sister (as in, like, 10+ years younger) that offered to be a surrogate for Greg and Mycroft (Mycroft, of course, providing the “main baby ingredient” via artificial insemination and all that jazz).

Greg Lestrade felt an overwhelming sense of pride as he watched his young son carefully remove his tie - without any assistance whatsoever - and then work on doing the same with his blazer. At age six, Oliver Lucas Lestrade-Holmes was _beyond_ his years in maturity. Unlike the other children who ran like loonies from their parents the moment they entered the playground part of the park, Oliver remained by his father until he’d removed the finer aspects of his school uniform. 

It was only when he was properly undressed that the boy politely asked if he could go and play. Greg nodded his head in the direction of the swings, where some other boys were already having a go. With permission obtained, Oliver wasted no time running off to officially join the others. 

Smiling at the image of his retreating child, Greg sat down on a bench and watched as Ollie secured the first empty swing he found. He fondly recalled pushing him on a swing a few years prior, when he’d been far too small to generate enough momentum for it, but now it was clear that his little one wasn’t so “little” anymore. Oliver was entirely independent when it came to entertaining himself - something that was equally brilliant as it was saddening. 

An abrupt vibration from his pocket had the older man reaching for his mobile, where a new text awaited him. Adjusting his glasses (the beginning of his fifties had brought many things for Greg [some good, some bad] and one of the bads, unfortunately, included a deterioration in eyesight) he read the message that made him laugh softly.

_Please do not allow Oliver to come home filthy. I find it deplorable enough that you insist on taking him to a public park. MH_

Typical Mycroft, Greg thought, though not unkindly. He perfectly understood his husband’s aversion to crowds, and that included places where said crowds congregated in a leisurely manner. Combine that with ‘countless pathogens’ and ‘innumerable opportunities for illness’ and there you had it. 

_We’ll wash our hands, love. Promise. GL_

Greg glanced up from his phone, checking to see if Oliver was still on the swing set. Sure enough, his son was swinging away and enjoying every second of it. 

_See that you do. MH_

_Of course. Love you. GL_

_And I you. MH_

Returning his mobile to his pocket, Greg cleared his throat and sat forward, resting his elbows atop his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him. He idly glanced at the other parents that were seated round - all much younger than him, he noticed. Then again, most of them were only on their first child, whereas Oliver was Greg’s third. 

His younger daughter, Abby, had just turned eighteen the week before, and his eldest, Lizzie, was - **Christ** , Lizzie was getting married in three months. 

Greg had met the lucky bloke he was entrusting his baby to, and they got on nicely. Mycroft, on the other hand…well, it could have been worse. But really, what was a background check, constant surveillance, and a private interrogation in an abandoned warehouse anyway? ‘All water under the bridge’, Lizzie’s fiancé, Sam, had nervously laughed. The poor, _poor_ boy. 

After playing for a solid forty-five minutes, Oliver returned to his father; his black hair was ruffled, and his heavily freckled cheeks were flushed from running. Greg found himself laughing again as he reached out to playfully boop Ollie’s small, speckled nose. 

"Have you had enough, then?" 

Oliver smiled a smile that was missing a lower lateral incisor. “Yes.”

Most children never wanted to leave (he literally had to drag Abby away from the playground when she was Ollie’s age) and here was his son, saying that he was finished and ready to go. Greg didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.  
"Right," he said, grunting a bit as he stood up. "Let’s be off."

He tucked Oliver’s folded tie and blazer beneath one of his arms and held out his hand for the primary schooler to take. A much smaller set of fingers settled itself within Greg’s and, together, the two started to walk away from the play area and back towards the car. 

When they arrived some minutes later, Greg released Ollie for a second and started to fish for his keys. By the time he found them and had unlocked the door, he noticed that his child was rather distracted by something. Blinking curiously, he followed Oliver’s line of sight and saw that he was looking over at a well-dressed father and his son. Greg watched as the two conversed happily and made their way to the playground he and Ollie and had just come from. 

Even after they’d disappeared, Oliver had yet to look away - something that Greg felt inclined to comment on. “Alright, Ollie?”

That seemed to snap him out of it. He nodded wordlessly and waited for Greg to open up the door for him; he remained quiet as he secured his own seatbelt. Oliver’s sudden lack in speaking concerned his father, yet Greg reasoned that, perhaps, his boy was just tired. 

Once he’d buckled up in the driver’s seat, the retired D.I. started the not-so-long journey back home. He would occasionally glance up in the rear view mirror, to check on Ollie, and with every look he couldn’t help but see how uncharacteristically withdrawn the six-year-old had become. 

Maybe he wasn’t tired after all. Maybe there was something else going on. 

They’d not made it halfway back to their townhouse when Greg suddenly pulled off somewhere. Oliver peeked out the window before focusing his gaze back on his da. This wasn’t their home, and he was confused as to why they’d stopped where they had.

"Ollie," Greg began, turning in full to have a proper look. "What’s wrong?"

Being called out the way he had caused Oliver to visibly fiddle with his trousers. He shrugged his shoulders for added emphasis, but that wasn’t enough to fool Greg. Oh no. In fact, it all the more proved that something wasn’t right. 

"You _can_ talk to me, you know,” he reassured. “Did something happen?” 

Oliver knew that children weren’t supposed to lie to their parents - a thing that his Papa had stressed on multiple occasions - but he couldn’t help but feel strange talking about what had begun bothering himself since they’d left the park. Eventually, however, he took a deep breath and met the eyes that were the same shade of brown as his own. 

"Daddy," he started, folding his hands on his lap in a way that was much too ‘old’ for him. "I’d like to ask a question, please." 

For as much as Oliver physically looked like Greg, he was a miniature Mycroft when it came to his mannerisms and general conduct. _Especially_ when Ollie went into ‘Tiny British Government mode’. 

"Alright," Greg agreed, putting the car in park. This clearly required every ounce of his attention. "What is it?"

Oliver took another deep breath. “Does Papa like me?”

Greg furrowed his graying eyebrows. “Oliver, your Papa _loves_ you.” 

"Oh, I know he loves me, Daddy," the boy chirped. "But I want to know if Papa _likes_ me.” 

Something wasn’t settling right in Greg’s stomach. In no way, shape, or form was it okay for his son to ask such a thing (or even give it a passing thought). He tried not to think of how hurt Mycroft would be if he’d heard Oliver’s question - though he doubted his husband would show any signs of how he felt in front of their son. 

"What’s brought this on?" Greg inquired. 

Oliver hesitated a moment but then followed up with a reply: “Before we left the park there was a man dressed just like Papa.” 

Greg thought back to the father they’d seen and realized that Ollie was right. The man _had_ been in a three-piece suit. “Okay.”

"He was playing with his son," Oliver continued. "Papa never plays, so maybe he doesn’t like me." 

The more the topic was elaborated on, the worse off Greg felt. Oliver had never once expressed such a disheartening observation before, and it honestly caught him off guard. It was true that Mycroft wasn’t the type to run about and physically 'play' with their child, but where he lacked in that area he vastly made up in others. Regardless, it hardly made Greg feel any better. As awkward and uncomfortable as it would be, he needed to talk to Mycroft about it. 

But for the time being… 

Taking them back onto the road, Greg turned around and began heading in the opposite direction. “We’re still going home, Ollie, but we’re stopping somewhere first. I promised Papa we’d have a wash, and I know just the place to do it.” 

\- - - 

Mycroft had attempted to busy himself in his study by looking over some documents Anthea had compiled for him earlier that afternoon. Sadly, this was not a task easily accomplished when one knew that their child and husband were exposing themselves to millions upon millions of harmful microbes at—he frowned—a _park_. 

There were plenty of cleaner and more private recreational venues that Mycroft knew and approved of, yet Gregory insisted on taking Oliver elsewhere. While it annoyed him and threatened to flare his dislike for the general populace, he understood that their son enjoyed the outings (and greatly at that). Thus, he had no choice but to allow it - however much it bothered him. 

The sound of familiar voices was what finally drew the busy man away from his desk. He was in the process of standing up when there was a knock upon the closed door of his study. Mycroft could already tell who it was (naturally) but that didn’t stop him from saying aloud: “Do come in.”

No sooner had he granted entry did an eager Oliver appear in the doorway. The boy walked in until he stood in front of his Papa; he looked up, smiling, and _that_ was when Mycroft noticed the smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. 

He bit back a groan. “Oh **Lord** , did your father give you ice cream?”

Oliver nodded and obediently stood in place while Mycroft wiped away the chocolate with the corner of a clean handkerchief. “I told him you’d be unhappy, but he said he’d sort it with you when we got home.” 

As if on cue, Greg poked his head in the doorframe and smiled. Mycroft failed to see what was so pleasing about giving their son pudding before an actual healthy meal, yet he decided to let it go (for the time being) and greet Oliver. Greg watched on happily as the two chatted about Oliver’s day at school - what he’d learned, and what he had to complete before the next day. 

The exchange ended with an embrace and Oliver toddling upstairs to change his clothes and start his coursework. Greg watched him go by before he entered the study at a slow, sheepish pace. He could already tell Mycroft wasn’t too keen about the whole ice cream thing - as he’d already known he wouldn’t be - but that didn’t stop him from holding up a small lidded cup and accompanying plastic spoon. 

"Brought you some," he said, wiggling the single scoop of toffee ice cream. 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at the offering, as though it genuinely offended him. “Gregory, you’re already aware that—”

"That it’s your _favorite?_ " Greg interjected with a cheeky grin. “‘Course I am. What kind of husband would I be if I wasn’t?" 

Mycroft resisted the tempting urge to roll his blue eyes. Instead, he settled for reaching out his hand and snatching the ice cream into his possession (as if he were a headmaster confiscating it from a naughty student). Greg could only chuckle as he watched his partner uncap the ice cream, dip the spoon in, and huff through his nose once he’d swallowed a delicious mouthful. 

“Damn.”

"S’good, isn’t it?"

Mycroft replied in the form of another bite before he covered the container once again and stepped forth to press a kiss to his husband’s lips; Greg hummed contently as he tasted toffee on Mycroft’s mouth.

Words were spoken soon after. “This doesn’t grant you immunity. Nor does it excuse giving Oliver sweets before dinner.”

"I know."

Feeling that it would be best to set his ice cream in the freezer before it could melt - he did so _detest_ melted ice cream - Mycroft indicated that Gregory follow him down the hall and into the kitchen. 

The pair walked side-by-side until they reached their destination. Once there, Mycroft ventured to the freezer while Greg collected a chilled bottled water from the refrigerator. What he and Oliver had discussed in the car - and had continued to discuss in the ice cream parlor - still weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew the sooner he spoke to Mycroft about it, the better it would be. 

"Myc, can we talk about something?"

Greg didn’t have to ask to know that the younger man was already putting together what had happened. He was a Holmes, after all. It was what they did. 

"It’s to do with your outing with Oliver?"

Greg nodded and started to walk into the dining room. “Let’s sit down for a bit, yeah?”

Mycroft followed. “As you wish.” 

\- - - 

Long after his husband had explained what had happened with their son, Mycroft remained at the dining room table. His hands were steepled and pressed against his lips, as was Holmesian custom when deep in thought. He’d barely noticed the time passing by until he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder. 

"Hey," Gregory’s voice spoke, causing Mycroft to escape his extended trance and look up into his husband’s face. 

"Has Oliver—"

"He’s sleeping, love."

 _Sleeping_ , Mycroft thought incredulously. Just how long had he been seated there, lost in the endless archives of his Mind Palace?

"It’s half eleven. You’ve been sitting here for hours."

Ah. That answered that, he supposed. 

Reaching up, Mycroft rubbed at his face before slowly standing up to his full height. “My apologies, darling. I hadn’t intended to remain here so long.” 

"It’s fine," Greg yawned, prior to removing his glasses and wiping away a tear the yawn had gathered in his left eye. "Ollie finished his coursework, ate dinner, and had a bath before bed." 

"Which is where I presume you’re going?" 

Greg slipped his glasses back on and nodded. “You should come with me,” he said. 

"Perhaps, but first I feel it necessary to belatedly bade our son goodnight," Mycroft replied. 

"D’you want me to make you something before you do? You haven’t eaten."

"No, thank you. I’m afraid I’m not hungry." 

That was never something Greg liked to hear, but he decided not to speak against it and lean in for a kiss instead. The moment lasted a few seconds as their lips lovingly melded, and when they finished Greg threw in a bonus kiss against Mycroft’s aquiline nose. 

"Don’t be long, love. You know I like to have a cuddle before I fall asleep." 

Mycroft smiled. “Of course, husband mine.”

With Gregory heading off to their shared bedroom, he set his course for Oliver’s room. His footsteps were nearly inaudible as he silently entered and walked over to where his son lay sleeping beneath a dinosaur-themed duvet. 

Mycroft sat along the edge of the mattress and took care not to disturb the resting child when he reached out to gently stroke his dark hair. 

_**"He asked me if you liked him, Myc."** _

His affectionate strokes stilled as his eyes narrowed in remembrance of what Gregory had shared during their talk. Perhaps that was why he’d remained at the table so long; he hadn’t been able to process the information, or why it seemed to have started an ache.

This ache - born from sentiment, no doubt - occupied Mycroft’s chest and fed off of the thought of Oliver thinking that he wasn’t liked by one of his fathers (namely him). 

Somehow, he would have to right this terrible, damn near unforgivable wrong.

Bending at the waist, Mycroft leaned over and kissed Oliver’s forehead. “Goodnight,” he whispered. 

He then adjusted the duvet to ensure that his child was properly covered before he stood up and left the room to join Gregory in theirs; he heard his partner brushing his teeth in the washroom when he entered a few seconds later. 

Mycroft began the slow, layered process of removing his clothes and returning them to specific hangers in his large closet. It wasn’t too long before he was dressed in a matching set of silky pajamas and trading places with his other half. While Gregory exited the washroom, Mycroft entered. 

"It’s all yours," the older of the pair joked. 

"How kind of you," Mycroft returned. 

While he waited on his husband to join him in bed, Greg completed the final preparations necessary before he went to sleep. He plugged his mobile into its charger and left that atop the nightstand, then sat on the edge of the mattress and removed his socks. He tended to run hot when he slept, and having his feet covered made the experience ten times worse. 

Greg was in the process of setting his glasses beside his charging mobile when the bedroom light was turned off and a body settled in beside him. “Hello, handsome.” 

Wasting no time whatsoever, he scooted over and burrowed his face into the elegant column of Mycroft’s neck (as he did every night). His hand rested on the younger man’s chest, directly over his beating heart, while his right leg lazily draped across Mycroft’s thigh. 

"Mmm. G’night, Myc." 

"Goodnight, Gregory."

Slender fingers began stroking through silky silver hair as Mycroft lulled Gregory to sleep with the soothing action. Before the love of his life could completely cross over into the realm of slumber, he added: 

"I shall pick our son up from school tomorrow." 

\- - - 

Understandable surprise claimed Oliver’s face the following day when he realized that it wasn’t Daddy who had come to get him, but _Papa_ instead. He was standing outside his shiny black car, hands clasped in front of him, as Ollie hurried over to greet him.

"Papa!" he exclaimed happily, though his expression suddenly took on a twinge of concern. "Is Daddy ill?"

"Your father is in perfect health," Mycroft reassured whilst opening the door for Oliver to enter the vehicle. "I simply felt like taking you home today."

After a quick hug between the two, they secured themselves inside the town car and were driven away from the posh private school. In the backseat Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off of Mycroft; he felt so _excited_ by the change-up that he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.  
Mycroft smiled. “I trust you had a good day?” 

"Oh yes," Oliver replied giddily. "During lunch Nigel asked me about one of Uncle Sherlock and Doctor Watson’s cases. Then he asked about the Hound, and about Baskerville as well." 

"And what exactly did you tell Nigel?" Mycroft dared to ask. 

"That it was confidential." 

"As it most certainly is. Well done, Oliver." 

The boy grinned at being praised and glanced out the window when he felt the car slowing to a stop. He was surprised for the second time that afternoon as he noticed that they weren’t at their home, but at the _park_ instead.

The very same park Daddy had taken him to the day before. 

The sound of the door opening drew Oliver’s attention to his father, who was stepping out and gesturing that he do the same. Unstrapping himself, the little one climbed out and watched in absolute awe as Mycroft started to remove his suit jacket. 

Feeling the need to micmic the actions, Ollie began removing the tie and blazer of his uniform as well. He could hardly believe what was happening; he and Papa were going to have a play at the park! They’d maybe even get to go on the swings.

"Shall we?" Mycroft announced, holding his hand out to his son.

Ollie nodded and immediately latched onto his fingers, squeezing tightly. “Will we get some ice cream after this too?”

"Certainly not," Mycroft replied firmly, causing Oliver’s expression to adopt notable disappointment. "We will be getting _gelato_.” 

The boy’s smile instantly returned and, together, they started walking towards the playground.


End file.
